My Heartbeat's Slowing Down, And Hopelessness Is Sinking In
by demonscorpse
Summary: A three parter slightly speculative fic for 1x15. This will certainly not happen in this ep, but I don't care. A bomb meant for Jane, leaves Kurt's life hanging in the balance.
1. Chapter 1: Jane Is The Target

**I want to say a big, big thank you to all the feedback I received for my previous fics. This is a three parter that will be completely uploaded before the new episode. And y'all can thank Maddy for her support on this fic. Caskett-inspired Jeller speculative fic for 1x15. Also I am trying to introduce another ship I am trash for on this show; Pattata. There won't be much of it, but if you guys like Pattata (Patterson x Zapata) let me know. Enjoy!**

The rooms are large, larger than she had expected. In her time after awakening from the duffel bag in Times Square, she had explored many places around the city, along with the protective detail the FBI had appointed her. She had also seen many tourist-y sights while working on cases. For instance; The Statue of Liberty. In reality she hadn't had much time to admire the beauty of the most iconic place in New York, but from what she had seen, it was interesting. But she hadn't seen the inside of an art gallery, until now. She was hoping it would be under different circumstances, but she'll take what she gets.

It was where she acquired her first memory, The Statue of Liberty, although, the location really had nothing much to do with that. She had tried going places to see if any more of her deeply masked memories emerged from wherever they are stored. Much to Tasha's disgust, Patterson had reserved one out of two _Girl's Nights_ a month for projecting sappy romantic movies onto a television screen. She would inform them that Jane hadn't much knowledge of anything around them and that romance movies were the best way to live a fairy tale, in complete comparison to what they work with every day. "And they're just fun," she defended, forcing Tasha to roll her eyes. There was one they had watched not too long ago, called Midnight in Paris. The art gallery that Gil and Inez go to, looks completely different to the one from which the _Burning_ _Rose_ painting has been stolen.

Kurt Weller had told the team to split up, wanting to cover more ground faster. Neither Jane nor Kurt liked those words the instant they were released from his mouth, but she had followed his orders knowing he was right. Her gun raised, she rounds a corner and inspects the area with cautious eyes for any anomalies. It had been quiet for a while, almost too quiet. Patterson was rambling on, talking in equations, probability and piecing mystery puzzle pieces together, so Jane tuned her out not turning the comm off so she could still stay updated with the team.

Zapata's raspy voice announces itself next, "Oh my gosh, girl, I can't concentrate with you babbling on with a foreign language in my ear." She sounds only mildly frustrated, and her voice is slightly hushed.

Patterson apologises, quieting her antics. The cogs in her brain churning are almost as loud as her talking. "Clear." It was Reade, keeping his voice low until the whole building was cleared.

"Yeah, same here. Clear." Zapata heaves a sigh, and holsters her sidearm. Her stomach tightens and rumbles, reminding her it had been starved for the past two days. "Patterson, how you doing over there?"

Her rambling picks up again, although it is quieter than before. She ignores her friend's question and continues to figure out why this was all happening. Tasha shakes her head and starts towards the centre of the building, closer to where Kurt had been searching. "All clear," Jane says.

Kurt follows the sound of an almost silent humming, or beeping even. He isn't quite sure which it is yet. Jane turns the corner she just passed, and heads back to meet up with the others. Her fingers go to her ear, to try and get better sound on the comm as she asks for Kurt's status update.

"Kurt, you good?" He doesn't reply, just walks towards what looks to be a stack of canvases, covered in red tape, literally. He can hear the beeping now, more rapid and pronounced than before. He reaches for the blade tucked into its sheath attached to his right calf.

The tearing of the canvases fills the eerie silence of the art gallery. The device lights up in flashes of blue, much like the blue of the deep sections of the ocean. _Oh no._

Patterson emits a gasp of horror as her rambling stops. "No, this can't be."

At the same time Kurt announces there is a bomb, Patterson says to run, to get out of there. "It's Jane! Jane is the target," she cries.

Zapata and Reade are further away than Jane is from Kurt. The timer clicks on, and the menacing red numbers read that there are ten seconds remaining until detonation. Nine. Eight. Seven. Kurt turns and runs, runs away from the bomb toward his team members. Jane's face is full of terror. Six. Five. "Jane!"

He screams her name as loud as he can, he screams her name like it is the only thing on his mind. _Jane is the target._ "Run!"

And she does. Four. Three. Towards him. She can't let this happen. She can't let anything happen to the team, especially not Kurt Weller. _Please, no. Not Kurt._

Two. His face comes into her eyesight, at least ten meters ahead of her. One. "JANE!" He screams as loudly as possible one more time. Zero.

The sound is unlike anything she had ever heard in her short existence, well the short memory of her existence anyway. As her body gets thrown backwards, she sees the force from the explosion treat him like a rag doll. His body flies in a forward motion, getting knocked around. The high pitched continuous tone echoing in her eardrums is nearly unbearable, and her hands fly to her ears cupping themselves over the top of them as if it would help relieve it. It reverberates in her ears, and it reminds her of the car bomb that left Reade injured months back. Only this one is louder, it is bigger. Scarier.

The scent of rubble and explosives invade her senses, and she splutters a few coughs out as the thick cloud of dust coats the inner lining of her lungs. "Kurt?" The screams of his name barely make it to her ears, and she stands on two wobbly feet, groaning as she feels an instant sharp pain in her right side.

"Reade? Zapata?" No response. She knows she should ask again if they are okay, but all she can think about is Kurt. And how this is all her fault. All she can think about is how none of this would have happened if she hadn't gone to him, if she hadn't tattooed her own body. _No_ , she scolds. _You are not her, you're just stuck in her body, with her muscle memory, and her instructions._

She hears the voice of three agents in her comm, she hears the voices of three agents telling her to stay where she is. _But it's him. It's Kurt._ And she just can't stay away, it isn't even an option. His lifeless body is strewn across the ground in what looks to be a very uncomfortable position, and her heart shatters at the very sight of him. She forces the tears threatening to spill back to where they came from. "Kurt," she whispers brokenly.

There is a small pool of blood seeping from a wound in his side, and his lips are turning blue. Falling to her knees, she slides across the polished tiles closer to him. Upon closer inspection, she notices a puddle of crimson liquid gushing from she can only guess the back of his head. It pours out, fast and her hand reaches out to his face. The stubble of his cheek scratches lightly at the palm of her hand in an attempted reassuring way. "No, please. Don't leave me, okay?"

Gunfire off in the distance makes her jump, and she then realises a whole conversation had been unfolding around her. She catches on quite quickly, Zapata and Reade had come across a man running away from the explosion, and started after him. Any shot at getting answers slipping through her fingers. Any chance at finding out anything about her past other than from some shady dude supposedly named Oscar, whom she had vivid memories about.

"Suspect is down. No pulse. He's gone." Edgar Reade turned on his feet and followed Tasha away from the dead body of the poor excuse of a man that had tried to harm one of their own.

"Kurt please, stay with me. I can't lose you." She moves her left knee to the other side of his body, basically straddling his hips. She has one hand on the wound in his side, and the other cradles his head and he unleashes a soft groan. His breathing is wheezy and jagged as he whispers her name. "Are -" gasp, "you okay?"

"I am, but I can't say the same for you," she chuckles softly. It is he with the rapidly weakening pulse. It is he that has a gaping wound in the back of his skull. It is he that is surrounded by litres of his own blood that shouldn't be anywhere but inside his body.

"Kurt, stay with me. I've got you." She tries her best to put on a brave face, forcing a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. But he is fading, quickly. "Somebody help me!"

"Look at me, hey. I've got you. Look at me," she demands. He angles his head to get a better view of her angelic features. His airways are tightening, lungs filling with blood, and a horrible throbbing pain in the back of his head. "I've got you. Don't leave me please," she sounds like a broken record, but it's all she can say.

"Kurt, I love you. I love you, Kurt. I may not know many things about this world, but I know how I feel about you. Don't you dare die on me!" Her shouts are hushed and she can now hear clearly, footsteps are rapidly coming closer.

The last thing he sees is the love and panic on her face, and then, he is gone.


	2. Chapter 2: On My Deathbed

**Part two of three! The new episode is getting closer and closer, and I am going to drown in all the feels when it airs. In this fic, I am not ignoring, but just pretending, that the fact Jane goes AWOL is happening to protect the team, doesn't happen. Mel, thanks for all the encouragement, with everything, Pattata & Jeller buddies for life! And a massively large thank you to everyone's kind reviews, sorry for the cliffhanger. Let me know what you all think, enjoy!**

Zapata throws her hand into her hair, pushing it away from her face. They have flecks of dried blood, Weller's blood, scattered over them. She had to forcefully drag Jane away from his lifeless form so the paramedics could do their job, and in the midst of Jane trying to fight her strong hands off, she had smeared blood on Tasha. The steering wheel stares back at her menacingly, as if daring her to grip it tighter. One hand runs vigorously at the other, in an attempt to flake the dried blood away, and it works to some extent. Swapping hands, she sighs deeply. Speeding through the heart of the city of New York is not a simple task. There are pedestrians and vehicles abound, and she imagines that from a bird's eye view would look like a sea of colours. Cars are white, some blue, red, greens, and blacks and greys. Some people don dark clothing, opting to stick to themselves, on a mission to be left alone and get to wherever they are headed. Others choose to be in groups, speaking loudly and laughing widely, having no particular destination in mind, just happy in their colourful outfits.

Reade is silent next to her, staring out the window mindlessly. A solemn look crosses his face, and she looks back to the road knowing exactly how he feels. He can't imagine how Jane is feeling. With a distraught look on her face, and tears pooling in her eyes still not falling, she had begged the paramedics to take her along in the ambulance with Kurt. They had been hesitant at first, that was until he and Tasha flashed their badges demanding them to allow Jane along, throwing in some nonsense about it being an FBI matter and they had no choice to comply. It was all bullshit, though. Legally they couldn't force them to let her in the back with the injured agent, but it worked. Jane's face washed over with a thankful look and she whispered her gratitude to the two agents.

"Hey, he's going to be okay, Tash." Patterson was in their ears, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Jane had removed hers when getting into the ambulance, not wanting to be distracted when she had to be there for Kurt. Reade hadn't said a word since he had seen the blood pools on the ground and the ambulance had taken off. He ignores the conversation unravelling in his ear. Patterson's voice quivers as she whispers _he has to be._ She had lost David not too long ago, and Tasha knows losing yet another person close to her will probably break her.

"I know," she replies quietly, her tough exterior breaking for just a moment. "Will you be there?"

 _Of course I will. Already on my way._

The sirens aren't too loud on the inside of the ambulance. Jane grips at Kurt's hand, her knuckles a sickening shade of off white. She whispers that things are going to be okay, that things will turn out fine like they always do, no matter how much she dares to disbelieve it. She whispers that there are many people that care about him. That part isn't a lie. She knows the waiting room is going to be filled just with their family. She knows that everyone will be there for him. The paramedic works fast, applying gauze to his wounds, inserting an IV drip line into his right hand; the one that isn't being squished by hers, and he works fast at putting a neck brace on the patient. Jane feels the man's glare, eyes flicking over the few visible tattoos. The ones on her hands and wrists show, and of course the bird on her neck. The bird she has only covered once, with makeup, to take down Rich Dotcom. His stare of distaste causes her to be uncomfortable, and she knows if Kurt was conscious he would tell her to ignore it, he would tell her that she should accept who she is, even if others don't.

She looks back to her best friend, and sees his pale complexion and blue lips. Out of her peripheral, she sees a scalpel slicing into the flesh between some ribs and a clear tube is inserted. Claret liquid the thickness of corn syrup pours out, going where, she has no clue. The driver angles her head toward the back of the truck, while still keeping her eyes on the road. "How's he doing?" Her shout is louder than Jane anticipates, making her jump ever so slightly at the shock of it.

"Not good, his vitals are plummeting fast." Jane opens up his hand, splaying his fingers out. It is cold, unlike anything his hands had ever felt like before, but it was still his own. Her plump rosy lips press gently against the flesh of his palm. She spots another clear cannula in the paramedic's hand, as his free one grabs at Kurt's cheeks forcing his mouth open. She turns away, and she hears the gasping sound of the blue pump he compresses and releases in a flawless rhythm.

When she is demanded to stay behind while he goes into surgery, she almost breaks down. The others aren't any place to be seen yet, and she really contemplates it. But she needs to stay strong, she needs to keep it together for just a little while longer. Her eyes flick around the room, and she takes in her surroundings, but at the same time paying attention to nothing. Her mind wanders, going over every prominent feature of Kurt. His eyes are the first thing she sees. The cornflower blue orbs piercing into her own bottle greens. She thinks back to their undercover operation, when she had stared right into him. She had always loved how his eyes looked, had always loved how they have the dark and light shades contrasting. She remembers back to when they were dancing as a married couple, when she had really noticed how beautiful his eyes were. They mimicked the ocean, not just in colour but also in the way the light blue looked shattered within the deeper shades of blue looking like waves crashing against the sand only to get sent back again. They mimicked the ocean in how she could stare at them for hours, swimming in them, drowning in them even.

Her heart skips a beat when a hand touches her arm, a gentle touch. Looking up, Jane sees Zapata sitting on the chair next to her, and Reade standing off to the side a little. He had seemed more distant toward her since the mole incident, he and Mayfair. She wasn't quite sure why. Wasn't sure if they were onto her. Wasn't sure if they knew things or if it were all just theorising. She gives a smile to her friend, and fiddles with her fingers in her lap. Zapata's voice is dry, it is hushed as if not to spook her. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

It was then that Jane realises that she is a mess. It is then that she realises she is covered in blood, in _his_ blood. She nods glumly, and pushes herself up from the most uncomfortable plastic chairs she had ever sat in. Even the horrible ones in the interrogation room at the FBI NYO were more welcoming. The hand is still gripped on her upper arm, leading the way to the public restroom. She wants to refuse the help, badly. She wants to deny that she probably wouldn't be able to make it to the ladies room on her own. She sees that her hands are coated in a drying crimson colour. She realises it is everywhere. All over her jacket, possibly also on her face and in her hair. Tasha gently nudges the door open with her foot, and releases Jane's arm.

To say Jane is shocked would be the biggest understatement ever. Her reflection stares back at her as her hands grip the edges of the sink, and if it weren't for her tattooed hands or neck, she would not have recognised herself. Fighting back tears, she reaches for the faucet, turning it on halfway. Her eyes caught the attention of the other woman in the room. "It's okay. You don't have to stay in here with me."

She knows she shouldn't, she knows she should stay just to make sure she is okay. But she also knows better than to argue with her, especially now. "Are you sure?" Before Jane even answers, she knows the reply. She can't blame the woman though, if it were her she would want privacy at this point in time. A small hum of approval escapes from Jane's closed lips. As she turns to leave, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. There is a dried smear of blood on her left cheek, and she reminds herself to clean it off before she walks back into the waiting room.

Patterson arrives next, coming up behind Reade's figure leaning slanted against the wall. "Hey." Reade turns to face the techie. "How are things?"

A sigh. "They just took him into surgery. Jane and Tasha went to the bathroom to clean up all the -" his breath hitches. "Blood." A wave of something resembling recognition washes over his face. "Sarah," it is nothing more than a whisper carried by the air.

She tells him to at least wait until after he is out of surgery, she says that Sarah didn't need to drag Sawyer out of bed for this. She says it's because everything is going to be fine. He knows she is right. They had pulled an all-nighter, and it is still only 5:15am. Waking Sarah and her son at this point with no good news was not the wisest of choices. Paterson's hand brushes his shoulder as she says that she is going to go check on the others.

Rounding the corner, she sees Zapata standing at the water fountain rubbing vigorously at her hands. "Hey," she whispers. The Latina jumps, and looks to the source of the voice. Patterson reaches her arms out and steps forward two more times. They hold each other like that for a moment, forgetting everything but this comforting gesture. Tasha's hands are still dripping wet from the fountain, but she holds on tight anyway. Pulling back, Patterson notices the blood on her cheek. She runs her hand under the water, soaking it thoroughly, and rubs her thumb along the woman's face. It takes a few times re-wetting her hand and pushing gently on her warm skin. She gives a smile of thanks, and asks her how she is doing.

Patterson denies that she is feeling any worse than Tasha, but they both know it is the complete opposite of that statement. After losing David to a tragic death, she hadn't been the same. Yeah she was getting better, but that part of her will always be broken. They both lean their backs against the mint green wall outside the bathroom. "How is she?" Tasha shrugs.

"Not too good, I guess. Another five minutes and I should check on her." Silence falls between them again, but it is anything but awkward. It is comfortable, familiar. It is nice. Patterson leans forward slightly and puts her hair atop her head in a messy bun, taking a deep breath.

No matter how hard she tries, Jane can't seem to shake the feeling of Kurt's icky blood off of her skin. She is red raw from scrubbing so much, but all the blood is gone. She had taken off her jacket and her trench coat, leaving herself in a plain singlet. Somehow, with great difficulty, she had managed to shove her head under the tap to wash away all the blood from her hair. She reaches for the pocket of her coat to where she had shoved his badge, gun and watch. The gun went straight to the back section of her jeans tucking into the waistband. Her holster sits to the right of her body, and she checks in the mirrored reflection making sure it isn't out of place, as he had scolded her for only a few months back. His watch rests in her open palm, and she flips open the black leather to the FBI badge he wears. Throwing her soiled clothes in the trash, she finally lets the tears fall. Her ribs protest at the position she is sitting in, but according to the doctor that gave her a check-up before the rest of the team arrived, she was just pretty banged up. Nothing but bruising.

They are slow at first, silent even. She slides down the wall landing on her butt. Knowing he probably would hate it, she tightens the strap of his black G-Shock around her wrist, and looks at its face; 5:25am. Her fingers trace the rises and the falls of the surface of the shield. Knowing all of this was her fault, a strangled sob escapes from deep within the pits of her stomach. She sobs as quietly as possible into her arms folded over her knees.

Patterson's lips tighten when the softest sniffle is heard on the other side of the door. Quiet crying can be heard, and she is unsure on what they should do. Her hands unclasp from in front of her body, and her right one moves to the side. Zapata can hear Jane trying to be discreet, and it tugs at her heart. She swallows the lump in her throat, knowing that if she were to tear up, it would do no one any good. She needed to be the strong one, she needed to be the supportive one. She could see it was breaking the girl next to her, and could hear the other heart shattering in the restroom. She feels a touch as soft as a butterfly's wings beating against the wind on her finger tips. Her eyes move to Patterson's and she gives in to her. She grants permission by grabbing onto the hand reaching for hers, and at first it is just fingers grazing, but as Jane's sobs increase, their fingers are interlaced and palm is against palm.

"Agent Reade, any update on Agent Weller's condition?" Mayfair means nothing but business, as always. Reade presses his comm closer to his eardrum, as the connection is quite crappy. He replies with a simple _no._ In all honesty, he doesn't want to have to answer to anyone right now. No matter how much he and Kurt had been arguing lately, about Sarah mostly, he was still his team. Kurt was his leader, his friend. Family. He just wanted to be here for him and the girls. He pulls at his tie, loosening it so it hangs low.

He asks about the mystery man, the one that caused all the damage they are dealing with right now. "It hasn't even been a half hour yet," she bites bitterly. And then apologises, softening her tone. "I'll keep you apprised." With that, it is silent again bar for the regular soft hospital chatter.

Not wanting to lose the soft connection of Patterson's hand, she doesn't allow her hand to slip away from her own, she walks into the bathroom as Jane is standing and walking over to the basin. She wants to ask if she is okay, because it is the right thing to do in a moment like this, but is also the exact wrong thing to say in a moment like this. It is a stupid question, so she keeps it to herself. Jane splashes the cool water from the tap onto her face, swipes at her eyes a few times and clears her throat.

If the chairs in the waiting room hadn't already been uncomfortable, they definitely were now. Sleeping on top of them is really not something any of them would ever recommend to anyone. Not even the hardest of criminals. Tasha rests her head on Jane's which is on her left shoulder, and her hand is on the arm of Patterson, whose head rests in her lap. Reads sits upright at the end of Patterson's feet, in a not so deep sleep. Reade had called his girlfriend an hour prior to them all falling asleep after a long 35 hours straight. She held back sobs while he updated her on everything that had happened, and he reassured her that he would pull through. He had also told her not to come down until he was out of surgery, he had said Sawyer shouldn't be woken too early. "The family of Kurt Weller?"

Reade awoke almost instantly at the name, eager to know how it all went. Rubbing at his eyes with one hand he taps Patterson's foot a few times. "Sorry," he spoke in a low tone to the doctor. She smiled and shook it off. The blonde stirred awake, slowly opening her eyes and adjusting to her surroundings. The light was harsh, and the thigh under her cheek was warm. Seeing the doctor standing just feet away, her body shot up into a seated position.

"What's happening?" Jane and Zapata quickly came to, and the doctor starts.

Her name is Lilith Granger. She had babbles on and on with medical jargon, with nobody but Patterson seeming to understand. Many difficulties had been experienced during the surgery. His heart had stopped beating numerous times. His lung collapsed mid-operation. There was a lot of internal bleeding that was hard to find and stop. There is bleeding in his brain. But he has been able to breathe mostly on his own.

It was a lot to take in. Jane stands up rubs her hand down her face in exasperation. "Can I – can we see him?"

Doctor Granger tilts her head slightly. "Give me about ten minutes. He is being taken into the ICU for recovery. Let me get him all set up, and then you can see him. He won't be awake or responsive though." Her lab coat swishes as she turns away and walks to the same double doors she came from.

Three people at once was the limit they were allowed in the room. Machines, cords, pipes, and screens covered almost every surface of the white walls and beige tiles. He looked so fragile, so broken and vulnerable. There is a white bandage wrapped several times around his head, and his skin is covered in scrapes and bruises. Tasha and Patterson walk in behind her, and it is hard for her not to gasp at the sight of him. It takes everything in her power not to run away because of the pain she has caused this amazing person. Before walking in to the private room, she had asked Reade to call Allie. She knew it was the right thing to do, despite how much she detested. It's not that she hated her, because really, she didn't. Allie had been nothing but nice to her since they first met. She just hated the situation they were stuck in. She wishes things weren't so complicated. She wishes her life wasn't the way it is turning out to be. She had just professed her love for him while he was dying in her arms, so she didn't really feel like talking to the woman he is dating, or fooling around with. Not right now.

Sarah and Sawyer would be on their way, and she wanted just these few moments with him. Even if it is with her only female friends she had. Dragging a chair to the side of his bed, she reaches for his hand, being mindful of the needle in it. A decent amount of his body heat had returned, making his hand not as icy as in the ambulance. All three of them sit there in silence, just enjoying the moment of relief.

She is at his side when he wakes up four days later. Four days without hearing his voice. Four days of fear of the unknown. Four days without seeing his smile or his eyes. Four days of agony. Four days felt more like a lifetime to Jane. Before his eyes even open, he mutters incoherent nonsense. She calls his name gently. "Jane," he croaks. They had told her nice throat would be as dry as a desert, and that his voice would be all scratchy. She reaches for her plastic cup full of ice cold water, and moves the straw closer to his lips.

"Sips, Kurt. You'll make yourself sick." He stops when he is done, barely moving an inch. She tells him that she needs to call for the nurse, but he grabs at her wrist and pleads with her to stay. When she finally says yes, he closes his eyes and he is unconscious again.

It is hours before he awakens again, but she is still there. Her hand is holding his again, and neither make an attempt to withdraw from the touch.

"I am so glad you're okay," he says sheepishly. _Me?!_ Her retort is harsh and her tone is anything but.

"You're the one in hospital, Kurt."

He hums at her in reply. He revealed a toothy smile, and his eyes light up. His voice carries on and on, but she doesn't mind. It isn't really something she could get sick of. They have somehow gotten onto the subject of how bad of a cook Sarah really was. There is one thing burning on her mind. "What do you remember?"

Her sudden outburst shocks not only him, her also.

 _Nothing._ He remembers the bomb going off, he remembered being thrown to the ground. But after that is just a blank. She should not be as surprised as she is, she was told it would most likely happen. She was told that he probably wouldn't remember much, but there was a part of her that was hoping. There was a part of her that though maybe something could go their way for once. There was a part of her that was hoping he had remembered everything, and there was a part of her that was – is hoping that he feels the same way. She should just continue with their conversation as before. She should just drop it. She should accept that it wasn't meant to happen. But for some reason, she can't. She tells him she needs to ring Sarah and Allie and the others to let them know that he is awake. He tries to protest, tries to extend their moment together for just that little bit longer. But to no avail. She is on the phone, and out the door.


	3. Chapter 3: My Worst Enemy Is My Memory

**The final instalment! Nothing much to say about this chapter other than it is pretty much just Jeller. More people are getting on board with the Pattata ship, and I love it. Make it happen Martin, although please not right away, because Patterson is still dealing with all the David stuff, and I just love the slow burn. But give me more scenes of them together. Thanks to all my readers, reviewers, favourites and followers, I love you all. Enjoy!** **Did you guys see the Asian promo?! It is so heartbreakingly amazing. Jane saying "don't die on me." Well I was so bloody close with my "don't you dare die on me."**

He smiles when he sees her walking down the steps at the front of that safe house the FBI had given her. He hadn't laid eyes on her since the day he woke up after surgery. She had been at his bedside, holding his hand so tightly like she never wanted to let him go. She he held him tightly because she was afraid that if she were to let go, that she would lose him forever, and she didn't want that. She didn't want to lose him just as much as he didn't want to let her go. The orange light of the street lamp bathes her in a beautiful glow, accentuating her features, obvious even from as far back as he is. Watching as she locks the door, he contemplates about how creepy he would be looking to someone on the outside looking in. He tries to contain the shout of her name, knowing if she wanted to see him, she would have come to see him. He knows is she wanted to speak to him she would have answered the many calls he had sent her way. He knows that if she wanted anything to do with him she would have texted back, even if it were just once.

Three months of rehabilitation had put a strain on his sanity. The brain damage was minimal, he was told. It had effected the mobility in his left arm, and he hadn't remembered much from the explosion. Some say that it is a good thing to forget traumatic experiences like that, that some things are better not remembered. He wanted her there when he would have to physically exert himself with the tasks the doctors gave him to help regain the strength and movement of his arm. He wanted her there holding his hand while he had to undergo the many tests and scans. He would never admit it to anybody but himself that he was scared, even admitting it internally was hard enough.

A young couple walking hand in hand down the street pass him with nothing but a whisper of air. "I love you," whispers the girl. Her partner wraps his arm over her shoulder and presses a kiss to her temple.

"I love you too."

Kurt feels a pang of remembrance deep down in his stomach, a pang of recognition. And for a second he has no clue what is going on, for a second he has no clue what is happening. A ringing in his ears starts deep, and climbs in pitch within seconds. He sees flashes of things, flashes of her face, and flashes of rubble around him. He can barely hear anything. Her voice is calling to him, her voice is filled with fear and sadness. And with a dull pain in the back of his head, and her hand on his face, he knows exactly what is happening. He knows exactly where he is.

The images and the sound is a little distorted, static-y and glitch-y. Her hand is warm, nails lightly scratching at his cheek. Through half closed lids, he can see how hard she is fighting to hold back her tears. Through half closed lids he can see how much pain she is in just to see him in pain. He wants to tell her that he is going to be fine. He wants to tell her that he doesn't want to see her upset over him but he can't say a word. It's a memory not a reality and the matter how much he tries to tell her how he feels he can't move, he can't speak. _It's a memory not the present, you can't change the past._

"Don't you dare die on me." He can feel himself slipping, he can feel his heartbeat slowing down, and in that moment he feels hopelessness sinking in. He wants to reach for her, he wants to hold her close.

"Kurt, I love you. I love you, Kurt." Her green eyes swim with unshed tears, and he has never before seen eyes so beautiful but helpless at the same time. "Not know much about this world." The glitching is worsening as his body starts slipping into unconsciousness. "I know how I feel about you."

And just like that, the memory fades to black, and he is back outside her house. His breathing is rapid, and it isn't from the exercise. He is almost at the point of hyperventilation, and he runs a hand quickly through his hair. Returning to the present time, he sees her turning away from him, getting ready to run the other way. He tries his best to drown the shout of her name inside of him, but it is too strong.

"Jane!" She stops in her tracks, recognising his voice anywhere. Her mind had been on nothing but him in the past 3 months, and she was finally seeing him again. He can't be here, she left him so he would be safe. She told Oscar that she wouldn't be working with Kurt anymore, but promised to keep within the FBI if Kurt Weller would be left alone.

She turns around, to see him jogging toward her. She's surprised to see him there, in the flesh, completely fine. "Kurt," his name in a questioning tone, rolls off her tongue like she was made to say his name. As much as she hates to admit it, the last few months had been a living hell. As much as she hates to admit it, she missed him every second of every day, with all of her heart. As he gets closer, she wonders what would bring him to her doorstep. Hell, she's probably just dreaming it. _Wake up,_ she wills herself. _Stop dreaming about him._

He is right in her face when she opens her eyes. She sighs deeply, about to ask him why he is there, when she not only sees him, but feels him press his mouth to hers. Her eyes are wide as his hands cup her cheeks. She wants to melt into him, she wants so bad to kiss him back. But she stands there, still, with her arms crossed, as he pulls away.

She can't do this, she needs to keep him okay, and alive. She can't let a repeat of the bomb happen once more, she can't put his life in jeopardy all because of some stupid tattoos on her body. His hair is longer now, like it hadn't been cut since the surgery, and she wonders if the scar ever still hurts. "What was that for?"

"Why wouldn't you pick up my calls, or text me back, or come see me?" He is hurt, angry even. Leaving his hands on her face, revelling in the warmth and softness of her skin. Her arms unfold and go to either side of his torso, and her fingers grip onto his shirt.

"I needed - no! I need to keep you safe. All of this happened because of me. Having you next to me, makes you a target. All of these tattoos, they're too dangerous. I can't ever see you get hurt again." She wants to scream. She wants to cry. But mostly, she wants to kiss him senseless. "You had all the support you needed, Kurt. Sarah, the team, Allie." The last word hangs uncomfortably in the air between them.

Leaning in, he rests his forehead against hers and blows out a deep breath. "None of this was your fault. The only person I needed, the only person I wanted, was you. And you went AWOL. I didn't need protecting, Jane. I needed you. I just want you."

He pulls her upward, and crashes his hot lips against hers once more. She tastes just like peppermint and strawberries, and as he demands entrance to her mouth he knows he could never get tired of it. Her cheeks flood with a pink colour and her heartbeat increases. This time, she doesn't just let him kiss her, but she kisses him back with equal amounts of fervour. Their teeth awkwardly clack together, and a clap of thunder causes them to jump apart.

The sky opens up, bucketing thousands of litres of water down onto the ground, and within seconds her grey singlet is close to see-through and her black sweatpants are heavy on her hips.

Her hands are in his hair and she kisses him once more, a quick and chaste but deep kiss. She stands back and takes his beauty in. He wears a black V-neck exposing more of his chest than she had ever seen, and his eyes are more vibrant than ever.

"I can't do this, Kurt. I can't see you hurt again." Her watches her back as she races to get to her door. Thunder booms down again and the rain pouring down makes it hard to hear himself think.

"Wait," he yells as she fumbles for her keys. She doesn't stop. "I remember. Everything. Just now, standing down the street a little, it all came back to me. Please, don't do this. Jane, I love you. I love you too!"

Her hands stop and her head bangs against the wood of her front door. He stands there waiting for her to turn around, to say something, to say anything. Hell, he didn't care if she yelled at him. "We can work this out, whatever _this_ is."

She wants this, she wants to explore whatever _this_ is. Her back rests against the hard surface as she turns to face him. He stands three feet away from the bottom step, with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

He looks stunning, in a rugged sort of way. Patterson had showed her an abundance of rom-coms, and there was always such a pivotal scene right toward the end, where the guy gets the girl. There is always a pivotal moment where hearts are poured out and kisses are given.

Patterson eyes would always flood with an entire palette of different emotions during those movie, especially in those last scenes. Tasha would sit there, right between both Patterson and Jane, with a bored look on her face while sipping her beer. Over time, she could see the hardened agent falling more for the movies the more they watched them.

And as he stood there in the rain, awaiting her response, she remembers one specific scene in one specific movie. She had never really had a problem with Patterson's taste in film, although she would get a fair amount of second-hand embarrassment. Dropping her keys to the ground, she runs toward him.

His eyes widen, and he almost loses his balance when she collides into him. Her legs are around his torso and her hands are in his hair. Her lips are on his in an instant, and it is sloppy and out of sync. As the rain and thunder fill the air around them, they struggle to catch breaths. His fingers splay out across her back most certainly over where his name is permanently embedded into her flesh. Because of the angle she is held in, her neck has to crane downward just so she can hold him close. A gentle moan rises from his chest and she smiles into their kiss.

Pulling back, strand of her hair stick all over her face and she breathes heavily, as does he. "I love you, with all of my heart. Which is why I can't do this."

Jane could swear she can hear his heart shattering, or maybe it's her own. "I love you, which is why I need to do this." He goes to protest, to argue against her. She scrambles from his arms, and stands in front of him, just inches from his body. But she raises her hand, silencing him instantly. "This is the only way I can protect you. I'm sorry."

"Jane, please."

"I'm sorry, Kurt."

 _Not anything like that one movie with that one scene, huh Jane?_

 _ **THE END!**_

 **I am not sure if I like how downhill my writing skills went from the first two chapters (of course I hate it, duh) but it's** **2:30am** **, and this was very painful to write. Ahahah oops. I wished this was better presented like the first two chapters, sorry. Thanks for reading. May the feels be with you for the new episode.**


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